


A Wicked Brew

by orderlychaos



Series: The Adventures of Wizard!Clint [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Non-SHIELD AU, Vampire!Natasha, clint & natasha bffs, coffee shop AU, human!Phil, imp!Jasper, magical au, modern day New York City, not a Harry Potter AU, wizard!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Mornings sucked.<br/>So far, this one seemed even worse than usual.  Probably because it was Wednesday.  Clint always seemed to have a problem with Wednesdays.  Thanks to the kobolds that had decided to hijack his summoning spell and invade his apartment in the middle of the night, Clint had already slept in -- and in his rush to get dressed and caffeinate himself enough to face the day, he’d stubbed his toe, blistered his tongue and somehow managed to run out of clean underwear.</em>
</p>
<p>Clint isn't your average guy.  Part of it was because he'd grown up in the circus, but mostly, it was because Clint is a wizard.  Sometimes life is complicated when you have magic, and not all of that has to do with Clint's best friend being a vampire or even his familiar being an imp addicted to chocolate cake.</p>
<p>No, Clint's life was complicated because trouble always seems to find him... and also because of his giant crush on the completely human owner of his favourite coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wicked Brew

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to dazzledfirestar for the coffee shop name. That brilliance is not mine and all credit should go to her :) Also, thank you to eaglesfire, who gave me the brilliant title. Thanks to Fae and Ralkana for help with the bouncing of ideas and Ralkana for the wonderful beta and helping Ameri-pick things. (That being said, all mistakes are mine.)
> 
> Also, a large thank you to everyone else who cheered. You are all amazing <3

_Tao of Hawkeye #6:  Okay, this isn’t as bad as it looks..._

 

Cursing under his breath in a bastardized mix of Latin and English,  Clint Barton hopped on one foot towards his fridge, cradling the toe he’d just stubbed on his heavy oak table.  With his other hand, he yanked open the freezer and zapped the lone ice tray inside with a jolt of magic.  The ice cubes rattled loose with a clatter, and Clint grabbed one to gently put on his scalded tongue.

Mornings sucked.

So far, this one seemed even worse than usual.  Probably because it was Wednesday.  Clint always seemed to have a problem with Wednesdays.  Thanks to the kobolds that had decided to hijack his summoning spell and invade his apartment in the middle of the night, Clint had already slept in -- and in his rush to get dressed and caffeinate himself enough to face the day, he’d stubbed his toe, blistered his tongue and somehow managed to run out of clean underwear.  Crunching the remains of the ice cube with a vicious snap of his teeth, Clint sighed miserably and gingerly put his abused toe back on the floor.

“You know, I don’t know why you’re bothering,” a tiny, amused voice said from the middle of Clint’s kitchen table.  “Even if you cast a spell to go back in time, you’d still be late.”

Clint sighed and levitated his now-cooler coffee mug towards his outstretched hand.  “Ha ha,” he grumbled.

Jasper, the small imp sitting in the middle of Clint’s kitchen table, finally looked up from where he was devouring a large piece of chocolate cake.  Aside from being a sarcastic little bastard, Jasper was also about the size of a teacup and bright purple.  The imp usually fluttered around Clint’s head offering advice or making obvious statements, or launched increasing complicated attempts to steal food.  Sometimes -- when Jasper was being particularly annoying -- Clint threatened to stick him on a diet.  Not that Clint would actually carry out the threat.  That was pretty clear from the way Jasper was starting to complain that his little bulge of a potbelly didn’t fit into his pants anymore -- a fact not helped by his current choice of breakfast.

Clint sighed.  Normal people probably didn’t share a small apartment with a sarcastic imp who had an obsession with chocolate cake, but Clint had never been normal in his entire life.  Part of that came from the fact that Clint had spent half his childhood in the circus, but mostly, it was because Clint was a wizard.  Maybe not a very good one, judging by the fact that he’d spent most of the night chasing after a herd of kobolds with his broom and a banishing potion, but a wizard nonetheless.

“Do you think I can just go back to bed?” Clint asked hopefully.  “Nat won’t mind, right?”

Jasper snorted in disbelief.  “You _have_ met Natasha, haven’t you?” he said pointedly, smearing chocolate icing across his tiny cheek.

Clint rolled his eyes.  “Thanks for the support, Jasper,” he grumbled.

As if conjured by his thoughts, there was a sharp knock at the door.  Clint sighed again.  He hated Wednesdays.  Clutching his coffee mug like a shield that would somehow protect him from being awake, Clint headed towards the front of his apartment.  A quick glance at the wards proved they were all humming happily, so Clint tugged the door open as he gave another jaw-cracking yawn.  “Hey, Nat,” he greeted, waving the vampire into his apartment with his free hand as he headed back towards the kitchen.

The invitation was hardly formal, but it didn’t really matter.  Clint had officially invited Natasha Romanoff into his apartment and his life a long time ago, and he’d never regretted it once.  Parts of the supernatural community had problems with Clint -- a non-aligned wizard, which was just a fancy way of saying he didn’t deal well with assholes -- calling a vampire assassin family, but Clint didn’t care.  Natasha, for all her faults, was a kindred spirit.  She knew the pain of betrayal and loss better than Clint did, thanks to the ‘gifts’ of her grandmother’s blood.  Clint could understand that, too.

Arching an eyebrow at him, Natasha flicked her eyes from his shoulders to his knees and Clint was suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that he was only wearing a pair of torn and faded purple pyjama pants.  “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he muttered, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.  “Kobolds.  Don’t ask.”

“He fried his alarm clock with spellfire too,” Jasper said, fluttering over to settle on Clint’s shoulder.  “There’s an impressive set of scorch marks on the bedroom wall.”

Natasha snorted, amusement lighting her eyes.  “You and your irrational hatred of Wednesdays,” she said, her full lips curving up into a smile.

Clint scowled.  “It’s not irrational,” he replied.  “I have perfectly good reasons to hate Wednesdays.  Like the fact that they always suck.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha reached out to scratch Jasper between the wings in greeting.  Jasper hummed happily in reply, just like he always did, before hopping onto Natasha’s outstretched palm.  “Pants, Barton,” she said.  “Find some and I’ll buy you coffee from your favourite place to make you feel better.”

Natasha’s smirk was far too knowing as she watched him.  It was moments like this that Clint hated Natasha’s sneaky, evil ways with vodka, because they both knew it wasn’t the coffee -- as good as it was -- that kept bringing Clint back to that particular shop.  As always, when someone mentioned _Bean There, Done That_ , Clint’s thoughts drifted to a pair of achingly blue eyes and a set of broad shoulders that would be perfect to lean on.  Not that Clint would ever get the chance outside of his dreams.  Phil Coulson was kind, funny and ridiculously smart -- and way out of Clint’s league.  Clint had no doubts about that.  He just couldn’t help the way Phil’s warm smile as he handed over Clint’s coffee every morning was one of the best parts of his day.  One morning a few months ago, Phil had even struck up a conversation and to Clint’s surprise, he’d gained a friend.  If it wasn’t for the chaos in Clint’s life and the fact the old wizards on the White Council had rules against telling humans about magic, Clint would have asked Phil out ages ago.

Okay, so he might have _tried_ to ask Phil out if things were different.

Maybe.

“Pants, Clint,” Natasha said, gently smacking him on the head.

Shaking himself out of his daze, Clint nodded and headed towards his bedroom.  After tugging on his favourite pair of jeans and a white henley, Clint rubbed a hand over his face.  He probably needed to shave off his scruff at some point, but he wasn’t sure he could be bothered this morning.  Instead, he headed into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.  Frowning at his reflection when he glanced up, Clint combed his fingers through his hair a couple of times, but there wasn’t much he could do about that either, and besides, Phil had seen him looking scruffier and hadn’t seemed to mind.  Heading back into the bedroom, Clint shoved his feet into his battered combat boots and added his silver rings and woven silver and leather bracelet.  The rings and bracelet didn’t do much other than help channel certain spells, but combined with the runic pendant Clint never took off, they’d saved his life once or twice, and now he never went anywhere without them.

When Clint headed back out into the living room, Natasha raised both eyebrows slightly, as if she was impressed.  Clint looked down at his clothes, but they didn’t look different from what he usually wore.  “What?” he asked, frowning.

“You look good,” she said, tossing something soft and dark at him.  “And for once, nothing is purple.”

“What’s wrong with purple?” Jasper demanded from where he was perched on Natasha’s shoulder, his hands on his hips.

“I’m wearing purple underwear,” Clint told Natasha absently, blinking down the coat he’d automatically caught.  It was a very nice -- and probably very expensive -- black coat, thick enough that it would be toasty warm, and it looked more like something a businessman would wear rather than Clint’s usual choices.  He was also pretty sure he hadn’t bought it -- or really, that he owned a coat after that disaster with the goblin.  “Natasha…” he began, raising his head.

Natasha arched an eyebrow.  “Have you bought yourself a new coat yet?” she asked him.

“Ah, no,” Clint admitted, knowing if he didn’t, Jasper would admit it for him.

“And if I hadn’t bought you one, would you have bought one before it started snowing?” Natasha continued.

“Probably not,” Clint replied.

Smirking, Natasha gestured to the coat.  “Then say thank you and put it on,” she said.  “I want coffee.”

Clint still wasn’t entirely sure coffee actually did anything for vampires, but Natasha loved the stuff almost as much as Clint did.  “Okay,” he said, knowing when to concede a fight with Natasha, and shrugged into the coat.

Humming, Natasha cocked her head and considered him for a moment.  Then she pulled out an amazingly soft-looking grey scarf from nowhere -- another thing Clint was pretty sure he hadn’t owned until that second -- and draped it around his neck.  “Yes, good,” Natasha said with a little nod.

“The clothes are nice,” Jasper said, “but are you sure there isn’t something you can do with his face?”

“Shut up, Jasper,” Clint grumbled.  He didn’t know whether Natasha’s shopping had been prompted by issues with Clint’s wardrobe or some other sneaky, nefarious plans (possibly involving Phil at the coffee shop), because it could go either way with Natasha, but he smiled at her all the same.  “Thanks,” he said.  “Coffee?”

“Coffee,” Natasha agreed, turning slightly to kiss Jasper on the head.  “Bye, Imp.”

“Bye, Tasha,” Jasper said.

Shoving his keys into his pocket, Clint did a final check that he had everything he needed, before following Natasha towards the door.  “Be good, Jasper,” he called out over his shoulder.  “I won’t be gone long and you have cake and the TV remote…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jasper grumbled, fluttering after him.  “Go take your pining over Cute Coffee Guy somewhere else, will you?”

Clint rolled his eyes.  The gesture he shot over his shoulder before he shut the door wasn’t polite, but it did make Jasper laugh.

~*~

A warm burst of coffee-scented air hit Clint as he and Natasha walked into _Bean There, Done That_.  Clint hummed happily, breathing deeply, and absently wondered if Phil would have any of those awesome chocolate and cherry muffins today.  His stomach growled loudly at the thought.  A second later, Natasha poked him in between the shoulderblades with a sharp finger to get him moving again.  Clint flushed faintly, embarrassed that he’d stopped practically in the doorway.  It wasn’t the most embarrassing thing he’d ever done in front of Natasha -- or Phil, for that matter -- but it still wasn’t helping the smooth, suave image Clint had been trying so hard to cultivate.

As Natasha maneuvered him in the direction of the counter, Clint flicked his gaze over the shop and the few lingering customers, knowing from experience that they’d just missed the morning rush.  His eyes lingered for a second on his favourite armchair with the bright purple cushion, nestled in the corner between a mismatched couch and an old wooden table.  Inside _Bean There, Done That_ ,the furniture was all second-hand and none of it really matched, but Clint had always considered that part of the shop’s charm.  Bookshelves stood along some of the bare brick walls, filled with worn and slightly battered books that were free to anyone who wanted to read them, and the beautiful glass lights hanging from the ceiling had been made by a local artist.

Phil was waiting for them as they wandered up, outlined against the large blackboards on the back wall that were covered in Phil’s familiar scrawl.   Clint grinned.  Today, Phil wore some sort of grey-blue sweater that hugged his body better than his loose shirts ever did, clinging to his shoulders and revealing the biceps usually hidden under his clothes.  Combined with the glasses framing Phil’s blue eyes, Clint was kind of having trouble not tripping over his own feet.

With an amused huff, Natasha jabbed him again, which probably meant Clint was supposed to say something.  “Uh... hey, Phil,” he greeted.

“Morning, Clint,” Phil replied, a smile curving the corner of his mouth.  “Shall I get your usual going?”

“ _Please_ ,” Clint said gratefully.

His smile growing, Phil pulled out one of his extra-large to go cups and started making Clint’s strong, black coffee.  Glancing over at Natasha, he raised an eyebrow.  “And you, Tasha?” he asked.  “Did you want tea or coffee this morning?”

The fast and mysterious friendship between Phil and Natasha had surprised Clint at first.  Natasha rarely liked anyone and was particularly wary of humans, but she liked Phil.  Clint had lost count of the times he’d found them sharing secret smiles that he was pretty sure were about him.

“Coffee,” Natasha replied.  “With the dark chocolate.”  She shot Clint a considering look.  “And if you have any of those muffins, Clint will take one.  He skipped breakfast again.”

Phil shook his head as he seamlessly grabbed a second cup to start Natasha’s order.  “I guess it’s a good thing I just pulled a batch of chocolate cherry muffins out of the oven then,” he said dryly.

Clint tried -- and failed -- to stop his mouth from watering.  “Phil, you are _awesome_ ,” he said.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha left a twenty on the register and stepped away to fiddle with her phone and give Clint and Phil a little space, because Natasha looked out for him.

“Tough case again?” Phil asked quietly, glancing up.

As far as Phil knew, Clint was a private investigator, which helped explain the times Clint had wandered in exhausted, bruised and that one time he’d been bleeding.  It wasn’t even a lie -- Clint _was_ a PI and he even had the license to prove it.  He just hadn’t told Phil that his average case wasn’t petty theft or a cheating spouse, but usually involved magic, some kind of supernatural creature or a combination of both.  “Something like that,” he replied, remembering the chaos the kobolds had caused.

“Maybe you should try doing something else.  Help take your mind off things,” Phil suggested.  “There’s a poisons exhibition opening up at the museum next week…”

Clint grimaced.  He didn’t have the best record with poisonous things.  “Or not,” Phil said quickly, obviously catching his reaction.

“No, it sounds interesting,” Clint interrupted, because it had just occurred to Clint that maybe Phil hadn’t been meaning Clint should go alone.  Besides, poisons were probably interesting when no one was shooting them at Clint.

“Yeah?” Phil said, sliding Clint’s coffee cup towards him.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, ducking his head.  “You know, you could…”

The sound of someone calling Clint’s name cut off Clint’s stumbling attempt to ask Phil to go with him, and Clint almost groaned when he recognized the voice.  Sure enough, when he looked over, Victoria Hand’s favourite minion was striding towards Clint, dressed in his ever-present grey suit.  “Blake,” Clint said with a scowl, wondering what the hell the White Council of Wizards wanted with him this time.

“I’ll go get you that muffin,” Phil said, before disappearing into the back.

His scowl deepening, Clint glared at Blake.  The other wizard seemed impervious to it, jerking his head to the side to indicate he wanted to talk privately.  Clint caught Natasha’s eye and shook his head slightly, knowing that Blake wouldn’t talk if Natasha was within earshot -- which meant technically, Blake wouldn’t want to have a conversation without at least a city block between them, but Clint wasn’t about to point that out.  “What do you want, Blake?” Clint growled as he walked up.

“The Council would like you to look into a situation for us,” Blake said, his expression pinched.  His expression was always pinched when he spoke to Clint.

“And why would I do that?” Clint asked.

Blake’s lips thinned.  “Innocents could get hurt,” he replied.

Clint rolled his eyes.  “So why haven’t you got one of your little minions to sort it out?” he said.  “I don’t do favours for the Council.  Not after last time.”

Blake’s face started to resemble that of someone sucking on a lemon.  “We’ve already tried,” he admitted.  “The problem is… outside of our abilities.”

Clint felt his eyebrows rise.  Not only were there some powerful wizards on the Council, but some of them were experts in obscure spells.  If the Council couldn’t solve it, the problem was either very, very serious or very, very weird.  Unfortunately, Clint specialized in both those things, although that wasn’t really by choice.  “You want to start at the beginning?” he said to Blake.

“For the last three weeks, there have been a series of magical disturbances occurring around the city,” Blake explained.  “At first we thought an untrained magic user was trying to cast a summoning or transportation spell, but the disturbances have been growing in strength.  They’re also… unusual.”

“Unusual how?” Clint asked, his eyes narrowing.

Blake frowned.  “The disturbances resemble condensed lightning storms,” he said.

Inwardly, Clint sighed.  He couldn’t just walk away from this.  Blake was right -- innocents could get hurt.  “Okay.  I’ll look into it, but on one condition,” he said, levelling Blake with a sharp glare.  “You pay me this time.”

Blake’s lemon-sucking expression returned.  “Agreed,” he said, before he waved his hand and muttered quietly under his breath.  “I just sent the relevant files to your office.”

Clint watched Blake slip away through the crowd and sighed.  This was just what he needed to make his week extra fun.  “Is everything okay?” Natasha asked, ghosting up beside him.

“Not really,” Clint told her, “but I’ll deal with it.”

Unfortunately, Phil was busy with a large order when Clint wandered back to the counter to pick up his coffee and muffin.  Clint decided to blame that on Blake too, and couldn’t help the way disappointment twisted his stomach.  With a sigh, Clint took a sip of coffee because if this was what today was going to be like, he needed the caffeine hit more than he needed his next breath.  It was definitely a Wednesday.

As always, he barely stifled a loud, happy groan at the taste of Phil’s magical brew.  If Clint hadn’t known that Phil was completely, 100% human, he might have suspected there was actual magic in it.  He could practically feel his brain cells zinging.  When Clint finally opened his eyes again, Natasha was watching him with amusement.  “You didn’t check the cup before you started drinking, did you?”

Blinking, Clint looked down at the coffee in his hand and finally noticed the words scrawled in black sharpie on the side, followed by what Clint was pretty sure was Phil’s phone number.   _Call me. :)_

“Awwww, yeah,” Clint grinned.

Maybe Wednesdays didn’t suck so much after all.

  
Fin.


End file.
